


compelling performance

by verity



Series: tween wolf [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are already there when Allison and Lydia arrive at the bowling alley a little after seven; "fashionably late," Lydia says. There's Jackson, wearing the green polo he and Lydia argued over for fifteen minutes; Scott, talking to a guy who must be Danny; and Stiles, slouching against the bench and fiddling with his phone. He sits right up when he sees Allison, though, and waves her over. "Finally," he says when she sits down between him and Scott. "You're my hero, dude."</p>
            </blockquote>





	compelling performance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts).



> sorry for the lack of updates! I'm out of town right now, but did manage to pull one together with Ashe's cheerleading today, YAY. thanks to Ashe for the speedy beta as well. <3
> 
> content note: some ableism from one character? pretty minor, but I feel weird not noting it.

The girl in the mirror is a stranger, copper and bronze eyeshadow blended up to the brow, pixie cut short enough that her bangs are mostly a suggestion. Allison feels like a doll in her loose ivory blouse and tight jeans, a locket of Lydia's hanging down between her breasts. Behind her, Lydia's tying the side of her purple wrap shirt, adjusting the tension of the knot and the drape over her hips.

For a moment, their reflection clouds over, faces smudged to nothingness beneath the fog.

—

"When's the last time you bowled?" Lydia asks, buckling her seatbelt. They're in her Beetle, with its pristine upholstery and perfectly shined exterior.

"Never," Allison says.

Lydia checks her rearview mirror. "I hope you're a fast learner. The boys will find it charming, but I don't."

—

Allison tossed and turned on her plush, pillow-top mattress all last night; even after two cups of coffee and a long run along the path that loops through Lydia's neighborhood, she still feels exhausted and restless. There's an icy itch between her shoulder blades that's growing by the hour. Lydia surfaced from her homework around 4PM, took one look at her, and said, "We're going out."

"Where to?" Allison said, because, Beacon Hills, not exactly full of nightlife with the ID Allison was using at the moment. "The movies? Sonic?"

Lydia pursed her lips. "Bowling."

"Really," Allison said.

Bowling, as it turned out, involved an hour of hair and makeup, a thorough examination of Lydia's closet, wardrobe coordination with Lydia's boyfriend over Skype, and a lot of texting on the pay-as-you-go phone Allison had picked up at the mall while Lydia was turning her nose up at the dresses at bebe. " _Stiles?_ " Lydia peered over her shoulder. "I'll have to ask Danny."

"Is he one of Stiles's friends?" Allison was slowly tapping out a response to Scott. Her last real phone had been a Nokia beater with T9 that mostly worked; this had a sliding QWERTY keyboard that required both thumbs.

"Stiles doesn't have other friends," Lydia said, lifting her eyebrows. "Well, that girl with the seizures and Vernon Boyd, maybe. They're not exactly on my radar."

Allison put the phone down on the dressing table where Lydia was crimping her eyelashes, lit like a movie star; her hair fell in perfect strawberry waves around her pale face. "Okay," she said.

—

The boys are already there when she and Lydia arrive at the bowling alley a little after seven; "fashionably late," Lydia says. There's Jackson, wearing the green polo he and Lydia argued over for fifteen minutes; Scott, talking to a guy who must be Danny; and Stiles, slouching against the bench and fiddling with his phone. He sits right up when he sees Allison, though, and waves her over. "Finally," he says when she sits down between him and Scott. "You're my hero, dude."

Scott gives Allison one-armed hug from the other side. "Whoa, you let Lydia make you all _fancy_."

"'Fancy,' Scott, very nice," Lydia says, but she doesn't sound too annoyed. She's sitting between Jackson and his friend Danny, who gives Allison a warm smile and a nod. "I'm flattered by your assessment of my work."

"I just meant—" Scott pauses. "You look awesome, Allison. Like you're going to kick ass and—look great. At the same time."

Across from them, Jackson rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Be prepared for us to crush you, McCall."

Stiles winces. "You're on," Scott says, grinning.

A cold shiver runs down Allison's spine.

—

Allison's trained to suss out social dynamics, although she hasn't spent much time around normal teenagers; some of it, she picks it up quickly. Lydia's smart, savvy, spoiled, and she's used to having boys dance attendance on her. Jackson pays for her shoes and buys her drinks, Danny jokes with her, Scott lets her go first and shouts encouragement from his seat. Lydia doesn't need any of that, of course: she has aim and focus that are wasted on the strikes she bowls and the guys who eat out of her hand.

Of course, there's Stiles. He and Lydia don't get along _at all_.

"Good job, Lyds," he says when she gets back from her turn. "Compelling performance. The Academy owes you an award."

Lydia tosses her hair and leans down to whisper something in Danny's ear; he makes a pinched face and scrunches his nose.

Meanwhile, Scott gets a spare on his second shot and whoops with joy. Allison can tell he's throwing the game. Scott hasn't changed from the boy she met on the first day of sixth grade all those years ago—he still wants to be fair, not profit from his supernatural advantage, but even pulling his punches he's at the top of everyone else's game. "Go you!" she shouts to him, elbowing Stiles.

"Yeah, Scott!" Stiles says, leaning forward to high-five Scott when he comes back. "Solid work, bro."

—

Allison doesn't pull her punches, not ever.

—

She gets up in between games to grab a Coke from one of the vending machines. The guy in front of the snack machine has his hands in his pockets, contemplating the chips. "What do you think?" he says, looking over at Allison. "Mesquite BBQ or Sour Cream & Onion? I'm torn."

Allison shrugs, feeds her dollar bill in. "I don't know. I like Baked Lays."

"They have those, too," the guys says. "Hey, you're—Allison, right?"

For a moment, Allison feels rooted to the floor, panic filling her chest, clawing at her throat. Even with—someone's found her, one of them. Within, the thing rises up in her, comes out from her mouth like a breath. Which is right when she recognizes him. Matt. The Panera guy.

Their eyes meet through the fog, and then Matt—coughs. Blinks. Turns back to the vending machine like nothing's happened.

"Yeah," Allison says. "That's—I'm sorry. I have to go."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
